The smile on Lamar's face vanished, melting away like frost under a rising sun, replaced by a mask of cold, calculating seriousness.
Shadows seemed to gather around him, drawn to the sudden gravity in his expression.
With a deft, almost theatrical flick of his wrist, Lamar opened the stitched book he carried—a tome bound in faded leather, its spine etched with cryptic runes that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
The pages fluttered as if caught in an invisible wind, finally settling on a haunting illustration: a sea ablaze with fire, waves churning with molten ash, the horizon lost in a haze of smoke and ruin.
The image seemed to pulse with a life of its own, casting flickering reflections across Lamar's sharp features.
"You truly are the first person able to hide their presence so perfectly," Lamar intoned, his voice echoing through the suffocating chamber.
Each word was measured, deliberate, resonating off the stone walls like the tolling of a funeral bell.
"You even managed to steal the unique advantage this closed realm offers—no small feat."
He paused, eyes narrowing to slits, the air between them thickening with tension.
"But today, I'll show you that despair often comes for the arrogant and ignorant mortal."
His words carried a strange, hypnotic beauty, each syllable weaving through the gloom like a silken thread.
The sound vibrated in the stagnant air, curling around Sinn's ears, impossible to ignore.
A dark, oily glow began to seep from the book of haze, spreading outward in slow, undulating ripples.
It was as if the tome itself possessed a heartbeat, each throb sending tremors through the ground beneath their feet.
The shadows deepened, swallowing the edges of the room until only Lamar and his book remained illuminated by the sickly radiance.
Suddenly, the blood on Sinn's hand ignited with a blinding crimson light, radiant as the first rays of dawn breaking over a battlefield.
The glow cast wild, dancing patterns on the walls, illuminating Sinn's face twisted in terror. A tidal wave of fear crashed through him, flooding every nerve, every thought.
His body began to unravel, shifting uncontrollably—his form dissolving from dense fog into wispy, insubstantial mist, as if he were being unmade by the very magic that surrounded him.
Lamar's face contorted, a grotesque grin stretching his lips as he leaned forward, eyes gleaming with predatory delight.
"Found you."
Without warning, thick, shadowy tentacles erupted from the darkness, lashing out at Sinn with terrifying speed.
They sliced through the air, leaving trails of black vapor in their wake.
Sinn barely dodged the initial strike, his body twisting and flickering like a candle flame in a storm.
But the relentless appendages pursued him, striking again and again, each blow shattering the silence with thunderous force.
The black mist surrounding Sinn became a swirling vortex of death, closing in tighter with every passing second.
Only when his arm glowed with that unnatural, traitorous light did the mist part, revealing him to his hunter.
'Damn, he's tracking me with his own blood?'
Sinn realized, panic sharpening his senses as he scanned the shifting shadows for any hope of escape.
The glowing blood was a beacon—one he had to abandon, no matter the cost.
His gaze dropped to the sticky blood writhing on his skin, squirming as if alive. It twisted into thin, sinuous tendrils, drilling into his hand and creeping slowly upward, burrowing beneath his flesh.
The sensation was nauseating, a crawling agony that made his stomach churn.
Disgust contorted Sinn's face. 'Fine, there's only one way to—' His thoughts were abruptly cut short as the blood on his arm grew impossibly heavy, dragging him down with the weight of a mountain.
"What the hell—?"
Sinn collapsed to one knee, his hand smashing into the ground with such force that cracks spiderwebbed across the stone floor.
The crushing pressure threatened to snap his bones, pinning him in place like an insect trapped beneath a boot.
"You look confused, boy?"
Lamar's voice rang out, smooth and metallic, echoing through the gloom.
"My blood is mine to command. If I can make it glow, can I not make it heavy too?"
Lamar's tone dripped with poisonous amusement, each word a drop of mercury sliding across the surface of Sinn's mind.
He advanced without hesitation, his silhouette looming larger with every step.
Though he could neither see nor sense Sinn directly, the glowing blood betrayed every movement, painting a target on Sinn's soul.
For the first time, unease gnawed at Sinn's heart. 'If that hits me, I'm dead…' In that moment—though his existence had spanned only a week—he felt true fear for the first time, a primal terror that threatened to consume him whole.
The twisting tentacles crashed down, obliterating the section where Sinn knelt.
Stone shattered, dust billowed, and the world seemed to tremble with the force of the assault.
Yet the blinding light did not fade. One of the tentacles seized it, dragging it before Lamar like a trophy.
Omar's smile warped into a mask of disbelief, his eyes widening as realization dawned.
"You cut off your own arm?"
Lamar asked the empty air, unable to pinpoint Sinn any longer.
The severed limb in his grasp oozed thick, viscous blood, pooling on the floor in a growing crimson lake.
Even a novice could tell it had been torn away by sheer, desperate force.
'Desperate… but understandable,' Lamar mused, his gaze sweeping the shifting shadows, searching for any sign of his elusive prey.
The chamber fell silent, save for the soft, rhythmic drip of blood and the distant, echoing beat of the book's dark heart.
Sinn stopped in the darkest part of the mist, where shadows twisted around him and the air felt heavy and cold.
It was so quiet that even his own breathing sounded loud.
"Crap, I need to stop the bleeding—fast," Sinn thought.
Pain shot through his body, mixing with anger and frustration.
He had lost the fight, and it was all because he'd been too sure of himself, thinking he was smarter than anyone else.
Now he knew better.
This world was harsh and wild.
Only those strong enough to kill could decide what was right or wrong.
That truth made him smile slightly.
He looked down at where his arm used to be. He had ripped it off himself, leaving a rough, bloody mess of skin and bone.
Blood dripped onto the ground, each drop echoing in the darkness.
Gritting his teeth, Sinn grabbed his torn bicep and squeezed as hard as he could to stop the blood.
He focused his power on the wound, trying to keep any sign of his pain from reaching Lamar.
If Lamar heard or sensed anything, Sinn would be in big trouble.
To hide himself, Sinn started making illusions—not just with light, but with sound.
He made it seem like water was dripping nearby, each drop tapping against stone.
In another spot, fake footsteps echoed softly, as if someone else was walking through the mist.
These sounds blended into the background, making it harder for Lamar to find him.
So far, only drops of his blood let him create these tricks.
If Lamar figured that out, Sinn would be an easy target.
He wasn't great at hiding. Most of the time, he just faked it with simple illusions.
This place belonged to Lamar, so Sinn couldn't do much except pretend and hope his tricks worked.
But things were about to change.
Using the last bit of his energy, Sinn forced the wound to close.
The flesh pulled together quickly, making his arm look like it had been neatly cut off by a doctor. It hurt like hell, but he didn't have a choice.
He did this because he was careful—and a little paranoid.
If Lamar could use his own blood for power, maybe he could use Sinn's too.
That thought scared him, and made him sure Lamar was still holding back.
"I can't just sit here and worry he'll figure me out. I have to make the first move…"
"There's no victory without sacrifice."
Sinn's eyes grew sharp and determined. Surrounded by swirling mist and strange echoes, he found new ways to enjoy life.
The slight crack in Sinn's mask widened, revealing sharp teeth arranged in a maniacal smile.
The fake water drops and footsteps kept playing in the dark, covering his tracks as he got ready for whatever came next.
Sinn was getting greedy.